


What Makes a Family

by Sir_Nemo



Series: Boundaries 'Verse [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Family, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Nemo/pseuds/Sir_Nemo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard's children are not sure how to deal with the fact that their father is involved with an elf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Makes a Family

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ulrika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulrika/gifts).



> Well, these two didn't leave me be.
> 
> To Ulrika for proof-reading. To Vladimir for listening to my rambles. As always, you're awesome.

There had been some explaining that Bard had to do. It would have been unfair not to tell his kids. It turned out they had already had a conversation among themselves about the fact that their father was involved with an elf. This conversation had taken place, Bard found, couple of weeks before any such development had even happened.

Tilda wanted to know would this situation make her a princess. Bard told her that technically no, but she was always a princess to him, which was apparently not the same thing.

There was not much talk about it after that. The kids accepted it, and it was not like anything had changed in their lives. Bard and Thranduil still met about once a week, by the riverside, on neutral ground for both of them. Bard still hauled barrels out of the river, or out of the boat, depending on the day. Thranduil still sat on barrels, and watched him work. 

”We don't see each other all that often,” Thranduil noted, one such time, as they were sitting, side by side on the ground, waiting for some barrels.

”Well I got my work, and you presumably got yours, which I still haven't seen you do,” Bard said, scratching the back of his neck, wondering if this was some backwards way of saying that Thranduil missed him, or just an observation. ”Would you wish us to see more often?”

Thranduil let out a small sigh, not exactly a unhappy one, just a statement in itself. Bard studied his profile for a while, especially the blue eyes staring into the distance, because that was the only place he could read when Thranduil didn't want to be read. Now the eyes turned on him, as Thranduil tilted his head, in a silent question. 

”Because if you have time, you can come by Laketown,” Bard said casually. ”Not with your royal guards, mind you. They are definitely not invited. One scene like that was more than enough. I'm home usually before sundown.”

”Your children wouldn't mind?”

”They'll tell me if they do.”

”And.” The corners of Thranduil's lips curved up slightly, into a rather mean smile. ”And Master?”

”He's been surprisingly quiet. I don't know what you did to him, but I'm sure he deserved it.”

”I have not done anything,” Thranduil objected. 

”I don't believe you. You couldn't resist.” 

Bard pushed Thranduil, who only laughed, tipping a little to the side. He took balance by gripping Bard's shoulder, which made Bard almost fall over on top of him. Bard answered by giving Thranduil a sloppy kiss, on the corner of his mouth.

They didn't talk about it after that, because the barrels arrived and Bard had to get to work. Thranduil followed him, close, like a shadow.

\- -

Bard shouldn't have been surprised to find Thranduil in his house a couple of days later, but he couldn't help a sudden quickening of his pulse when he opened his door, and saw the Elven King sitting on the dining room table. Next to him on the bench was Tilda, who was leaning against the table, and gazing at Thranduil, telling him something. The sight struck Bard as something odd, and he almost turned away there and then and walked back out of the door. Well, he had told him he could come.

He stepped inside, and Thranduil looked up.

”How's things?” Bard asked.

”Not now, da, I'm telling a story,” Tilda said, annoyed and tugged at Thranduil's arm to get his full attention.

”Of course, my apologies.”

Tilda gave him a critical look, the kind only a child could give and then grinned.

”Apology accepted.”

Tilda continued her story, apparently about the time she and Bain had got into trouble with one of the women in Laketown, because they had sort of accidentally broke into her house. Bard sat down on the bench, on the other side of Thranduil, and leaned against his leg, listening to the story. Tilda was very animated talker, swaying her arms about, and almost falling off the bench a couple of times.

The story was familiar to Bard, he even made an appearance in it, as the hero, arriving at the last minute to save the kids from getting thrown into the lake. Bard had no heart to tell Tilda, that Old Maggie had no need to throw kids into lakes, and no strength for such feat either. Bard kept stealing glances at Thranduil, who was watching Tilda move intently, amusement and fondness glinting in his eyes.

Finally Tilda was done with her story, and Thranduil smiled, clapping his hands together. Tilda bowed as an answer, and didn't object when Bard got up and swept her up to his arms. She only giggled, pressing her face against Bard's shoulder, tiny hands gripping his arms.

Bard turned to Thranduil.

”How long have you been here?” he asked.

”Not long. Your daughter has kept me company.”

Bard narrowed his eyes at Thranduil, who took on an air of carefully crafted innocence. Then he shook his head, rolling his eyes.

”Where's Bain? And Sigrid?” Bard asked Tilda.

”They went to market,” Tilda told.

”Alright, then.”

Bard wasn't completely sure how to act with Thranduil around the house, but the elf seemed happy to just sit and watch him interact with his children. It would have been uncomfortable, if Tilda hadn't taken immediate liking to Thranduil. She wasn't shy at all, tugging at Thranduil's arm if she needed something and not hesitant to talk back to him. She had her father's boldness.

The older kids were a bit more hesitant about Thranduil. Bard could see it in them when they got back from the market, giving quick unsure looks at the Elven King, who was braiding Tilda's hair. That time Thranduil didn't stay long. He had some business to attend to. Tilda saw him off to the door, making him promise to come and braid her hair again.

He did come by every so often, and soon became a familiar figure in the house. Though the visits were less and less awkward each time, Bard was still unsure about Bain and Sigrid.

Bain was a bit wary about Thranduil, not entirely sure how to adress him, and how to act with the fact that Thranduil was with Bard. On the other hand, Bard knew, that Bain was really interested in Legolas, considering him some kind of hero. He had asked Bard about him many of times, and Bard had tried his best to answer, with the little knowledge he had, having met Thranduil's son only handful of times, so that stream of stories was soon exhausted. Thranduil himself didn't seem to interest Bain that much, probably because he didn't have swords or a bow or armor. And Bard had told him not to tell stories that had too much blood in it. And Thranduil was old, the same way Bard was old. The fact that Legolas was at least couple of hundreds of years old himself, didn't seem to bother Bain.

Then there was that one time, when Tilda was asking for a story, having already shared most of her stories with Thranduil, and in the progress invented a couple of new ones.

”About what do you want a story about?” Thranduil asked.

Tilda pondered this for a while, frowning to show that she was thinking really hard. At this point Bain walked to her and whispered something into her ear, which made Tilda smile.

”Your son,” Tilda said, bright and cheerful. 

”My son?” Thranduil repeated, turning to look at Bard, who only shrugged. Thranduil turned back to Tilda and Bain, who had climbed on to the bench as well. ”Of course. Let me think.”

Thranduil told a story about when Legolas had been younger and had decided to go off on an adventure on the river, and how the whole kingdom of Mirkwood had been puzzled as to where the young prince could have gone and how every one of them had wanted to go search for him, and how they had finally found him in the edge of the forest, staring at Laketown and the Lonely Mountain behind it. Thranduil was a great storyteller, choosing each word carefully and with them painting a perfect picture, where you could smell the summer on the trees and hear the singing of the birds. 

From that day onward Bain was sold on Thranduil, making sure to ask how Legolas was doing every time he visited. Thranduil always answered gracefully, occasionally relaying messages from Legolas, which made Bain excited for days.

\- -

Sigrid was very mature about the whole thing, polite, but reserved. She did not appear, at first, to be bothered by Thranduil's presence, she just kept her distance, doing her normal household chores, and not even listening to what the others were talking. She occasionally talked to Thranduil, if she really needed to, but Bard could see she was not completely comfortable around him. 

She remembered her mother well. She also remembered what it was like to lose her. She had always taken her responsibility as the eldest sister seriously, especially after her mother had died, and there had been just the four of them, Bain, not old enough to look after himself, and new-born Tilda. Bard would have wished her not to have had to take such burden at such young age, but he could not have done it alone. The two of them could not have done it alone. The whole town came to their help, doing the best they could for the grieving family. But other people died, other people needed help, and so the most important thing had always been that the four of them had stuck together. Bard was not sure if she was willing to accept a new member into their little circle.

So one day when there were just her and him in the house, Bard sat her down.

”Is everything okay?” he asked. Sigrid gave him a confused look.

”Why are you asking, da?”

”Da's just worried,” Bard said.

”Everything's alright,” Sigrid said. And she seemed to be, right at that moment. Bard sighed, and stared at the floor for a while, wondering what to say.

”If you don't want Thranduil here, just tell me. This is your house as much as it's mine, and if his presence makes you uncomfortable, we can sort it out.”

”No, no,” Sigrid said, quickly. And then her voice a whisper: ”I just miss mother, sometimes.”

”I know, it's been hard on you, and I too miss her still. I will never stop missing her, and I'm not trying to replace her.”

”I know.”

They were silent for a while, Sigrid was staring at her hands.

”I just need a little time,” she said.

”You got all the time you need, darling,” Bard said. ”Just promise to tell me, if anything bothers you.”

Sigrid nodded, and then smiled, dissolving the situation. She got up to hug her father, before returning back to cutting potatoes for their lunch.

”I need to run one errand, quick,” Bard said. ”Will you manage?”

”Yes, 'da.”

Bard started walking towards the door, when Sigrid's voice stopped him.

”He's nice,” she said, not looking up from her work.

”Hmm?”

”And he makes you happy. That's what's important.”

\- -

Thranduil had become such an usual sight in their household, and so Bard's only reaction to finding the elf sitting on the dining table evening was to smack him in the arm and say:

”We've talked about this, no sitting on the table.”

Thranduil got off, looking displeased. 

”It's your own fault for being so tall,” Bard told. Thranduil raised his eyebrows at him.

”Where are your little ones?” he asked.

”Outside. They should be home in a while. I thought you came here to see me,” Bard noted, sitting down. Thandruil sat next to him, close enough for their shoulders to brush.

”Of course I did,” Thranduil said. 

”I know. I was just teasing.”

Thranduil hmphed.

”It's nice to have you to myself, sometimes,” Bard admitted, leaning against Thranduil. Thranduil smiled, took Bard's hand, and gave it a kiss.

They spent the evening talking about the new ship that had come into town, and the people who had come with it, about a party of elves that were coming down from Rivendell to visit Mirkwood in couple of weeks, about some very confused town's folk that had caught glimpses of Thranduil on his way to the house.

At some point the kids came in, but they decided to give the two their own moment, so engrossed were they with their conversation, though Tilda did interrupt them once, to demand her greetings.

Finally they had exhausted their conversation for the night, and outside it was already dark.

”I must be off,” Thranduil said, and got up. But before he could reach the door Tilda ran to him, clung to his hand, and complained:

”But I haven't told you about my day yet.”

Thranduil and Tilda looked at each other, and there seemed to be some kind of communication going on between them, because they turned to look at Bard at the same time. 

”One story,” Bard said.

So Thranduil sat down again, and Tilda climbed to Bard's lap, and started telling. Bard knew that Tilda's day hadn't had anything special in it, as she had told him a short version when they had been at the same time for dinner, before Thranduil had arrived. But this version seemed to be much more detailed, and frequently Tilda had to pause the story all-together to explain to Thranduil where some of the places were, or who some of the town's folk mentioned were. This involved detailed descriptions of their looks and manners and short personal histories, and commentary about whether Tilda really liked them or not, and if father had told her to be nice to them or stay away. But each time Bard feared Tilda had lost the actual story, she steered back into it, only to have to pause two sentences later to explain Thranduil about the dog she had encountered and how it had had puppies last spring. 

Slowly, the story came to the point where Tilda had come in with Bain to find Thranduil and Bard inside, but it had taken a long time, and Bard's legs were completely stiff from having Tilda sitting on them.

”It was a good story,” Thranduil said. Tilda beamed.

”And now it's way past someone's bed time,” Bard said. ”Say good night.”

”Good night, uncle Thranduil,” Tilda said, and Bard almost laughed out loud at the confused look that passed on Thranduil's face before it was replaced by one of Thranduil's polite smiles.

”Good night, miss Tilda.”

Tilda giggled. She turned to give her father a kiss on the cheek, before jumping off his lap and disappearing to get to bed.

”Bain, Sigrid, you too,” Bard said. Bain and Sigrid nodded and got up. Sigrid went by Bard, to give him a good-night kiss on the cheek. She nodded at Thranduil before disappearing after her brother and sister.

When the kids had disappeared, Bard could hold his grin back no longer.

”What?” Thranduil asked.

”She has you wrapped around her finger,” Bard said. ”And she adores you. I am glad that you two get along.”

Thranduil smiled, soft. It had never occurred Bard to think that Thranduil was fond of children. That elves in general would care for human children, being so old and eternal. But it made sense, what Bard understood was that elven children matured very quickly, and elven couples didn't usually have many children anyway, so children were a rare sight among elves, no doubt cherished.

”I'm sorry that Tilda kept you for so long,” Bard said.

”It's alright.”

”It's late. I hope you won't run into any beasts on your way home.”

”I hope so too,” Thranduil said.

”Or you could stay the night,” Bard suggested, with a shrug. Thranduil raised his eyebrows at him, which prompted Bard to explain. ”It's dark and dangerous outside, and you no doubt could manage yourself, but if you prefer you can sleep here. Do elves even sleep?” Bard asked.

”We do.”

”Well, yes. Though the bed is too small for you,” Bard noted, nudging his head towards his own bed.

”It is a bit on the short side,” Thranduil said.

”As I have said before, it's your own fault for being tall. But it's up to you.”

Bard didn't wait for Thranduil to answer, because the children had come back up after doing their night washing and had dressed in their night gowns, and we're clambering to their respective beds. Bard went to tug Tilda in, and to exchange couple of words with Bain.

Thranduil was shrugging off his jacket, and looked unsure as to where to put, so Bard took it from his hands, folded it, and placed it by the bed. Bard started undressing himself, as he watched Thranduil pull off his boots.

”I think you should leave your socks on. There's no chance that your feet are going to fit into the bed, not with both of us in there as well.”

Thranduil only nodded, leaving his boots by the bedside, and climbing onto the bed. It was probably not as comfortable as one he probably slept in at home, but he made no comment.

Bard left his own clothes next to Thranduil's jacket, and blew the fire out of the candle by the bedside. It became dark in the house, and Bard stood a while in front of the bed, letting his eyes get used to the darkness all around him.

He hadn't slept in the same bed with anyone since his wife died, if he didn't count the times Tilda had slept next to him, and the couple of times Bain too had climbed into his bed. Sigrid had been too old for that for quite some time. It was the same with Thranduil too, probably. He briefly wondered if young Legolas had ever climbed into Thranduil's bed after a bad dream, or if elves indeed had bad dreams, or dreams for that matter. Or if sleeping in one's parent's bed was not something elves did. Even if they did, it had probably been a while for both of them.

Bard could finally make out the shapes in the dark. So he climbed into the bed, laying on his side. The bed was so small that his back was pressed against Thranduil's stomach. Thranduil curled up around him, his chin pressing on his head, and his feet poking out of the bed somewhere, arms wrapped around and hands pressed on his stomach.

”You're bony,” Bard said. Thranduil only hummed as an answer, curling a bit closer. ”Good night.”

”Good night,” Thranduil answered, pressing his lips against the top of Bard's head. Bard closed his eyes and in the warmth of another body against him, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

\- -

Bard awoke from his slumber by a hand tugging his arm, and a soft voice calling:

”Da.”

He opened his eyes. It was still dark in and he couldn't hear nothing but the sound of water from the outside. He could feel Thranduil's breathing against his hair, and the soft rise and fall of his chest against his back. Bard roused from his bed, to look at Tilda, who was standing by the bed, her eyes teary.

”Da,” she repeated, and let out a small hiccup.

”What is it, Tilda?”

”I had a bad dream,” Tilda said. ”Can I sleep with you?”

”Of course, hop in dear.”

Tilda started climbing to the bed, already crowded. Bard jabbed Thranduil in the ribs, not too hard, until he let go, murmuring something in Elvish. Tilda snuggled into his father's arms, pressing her face against his chest. Bard wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. She seemed to calm down immediately, her breathing slowing down.

Bard could feel Thranduil moving behind him, apparently close to falling off the bed, so he pressed back close to Bard, and Bard could feel Thranduil's hands on top of his, holding Tilda. Thranduil's hands were cold, soft and not quite big enough to cover Bard's owns.

There the three of them laid, not in silence, because there were the sounds of breathing, of someone shouting in the night of Laketown, a drunken slur, and of course the water, always the water. Bard waited until he could feel Tilda drifting off, her body relaxing in his arms, her breathing deepening. He was not sure if Thranduil was awake or not, it was hard to tell with elves.

Finally Bard closed his eyes, and fell back asleep.

\- -

It felt like a dream. The world was heavy with approaching dawn, and there was the silence, as if even the water had decided to take this moment to stop for a while. Tilda in his arms was heavy, still, aside from the rise and fall of her breathing.

Bard didn't want to open his eyes, there was still time to sleep. Only the fishermen and the folk who worked nights were awake. It was not time yet for him to wake. But then he became conscious of something missing. Thranduil was gone, and he opened his eyes.

Thranduil was standing in the doorway talking to an elf, as he was buttoning up his jacket. When they were finished the other elf nodded, and disappeared from the doorway. Thranduil was about to follow, but he turned to look at the house for the last time, and noticed Bard staring at him.

With couple of quick, silent strides he was by the bed, kneeling to be on eye-level with Bard.

”You're going?” Bard murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep.

”I must.”

”Something happened?”

”Afraid so. I'll explain later.”

”You were going...” At this point a big yawn cut off Bard's sentence. Thranduil only smiled fondly. ”To go without a word.”

”I did not wish to wake you.”

”Well, you did.”

”And we are having the word right now.”

”I am too tired for word-plays,” Bard grumbled.

”Sleep then.”

Thranduil reached over, planted a kiss on Bard's lips, and softly petted Tilda's hair, and waited until Bard closed his eyes.

Bard couldn't hear him go, if his steps made a sound, the sounds of the waking town drowned it. He would have missed his departure completely if it wasn't for the sound of the door closing. Apparently even elves couldn't do anything about that.

Sleep was washing over him, and he almost let it take him, before something occurred to him. How had the other elf, one that Bard was pretty certain he had never seen before, known where he lived? Bard frowned. They would have to have a serious conversation about this later, but now he was holding his daughter in his arms, and everything was warm and soft. So he slept.

\- -

In the morning, Tilda complained that uncle Thranduil had left without saying goodbye, but Bard assured her he would be back.


End file.
